50 Shades of Grey – Chapter Three

During the last chapter Grey visited Ana’s DIY store and offered to do a photo shoot to accompany his interview. This is that photo shoot. Will he look as hot on film as he does in real life? What sort of trousers will he wear? Will Ana stand up long enough to go for a coffee with him?

What are we going to talk about? What on Earth do I have in common with him? … What is he thinking?

Who would have thought that someone with such a capacity for stultifying conversation could have such an intensely annoying inner monologue? Oh wait, I did.

…my knees shaky, my stomach full of butterflies, and my heart in my mouth … I feel giddy, and I tingle all over.

Sounds like flu to me.

We walk four blocks before we reach the Portland Coffee House, where Grey releases me to hold the door open so I can step inside.

Oh, this is good stuff. But I want to know more. Does he wait to close the door behind her? Who reaches the counter first? Are they inhaling and exhaling at the same time?

There is now a lengthy conversation about what she would like to drink, whether she wants food, and even a description of the teabag – the sort of pointless shit most writers don’t even bother writing, let alone cutting out. Just shut up and screw each other, please.

His long fingers deftly peel back the paper, and I watch, fascinated.

Yup, Ana wishes she was a blueberry muffin.

“I find you intimidating.” I flush scarlet, but mentally pat myself on the back for my candor, and gaze at my hands again.

I have no idea. Grey must be blind. That’s the only way he can have failed to notice the fact you twitch all over and constantly change colour.

“Tell me about your parents.”
Why does he want to know this? It’s so dull.

Ana knows it. We know it. Shortly Christian Grey will know it too and this soporific book will end.

“And your mother remarried?”
I snort.
“You could say that.”

“So you’re reading 50 Shades of Grey?”
I snort.
“You could say that.”

“You’ve interviewed me once already, and I can remember some probing questions then.”

Probing!

In years to come I know I’ll need intensive therapy to not feel this embarrassed every time I recall the moment [I asked if he was gay].

I would certainly need therapy for saying one thing to one guy, who I saw myself having no future with whatsoever. Once I paid a shop assistant with the wrong change and I’m still waking up with night sweats about it.

“[My mom] has Bob now. I just hope he can keep an eye on her and pick up the pieces when her harebrained schemes don’t go as planned.”

Shame Bob wasn’t around when Ana’s mother schemed to have a baby.

I really shouldn’t look at his mouth. It’s unsettling.

What’s more, his eyes are torturous, his hands are traumatising, and if she sees him naked she’ll probably have to be committed.

More pointless exposition about Ana’s parental situation during her childhood.

“You didn’t want to live with your mom?” he asks.
This really is none of his business.

THEN DON’T TELL HIM.

She tells him.

“I’ve never left mainland USA.”
So now we’re back to banalities.

Banalities like THE REST OF THE WORLD.

He cocks his head to one side, running his index finger across his lower lip … oh my.

Cocks, fingers and lips, all in one sentence. Clever, clever writing.

“It’s England I’d really like to visit … It’s the home of Shakespeare, Austen, the Brontë sisters, Thomas Hardy…”

… and E. L. James. If only Stephanie Meyer were British too. Then we’d have all the greats.

He smiles his odd I’ve-got-a-whopping-big-secret smile.

Gone are the ghosts of smiles! Now is the age of smiles-that-have-ridiculously-long-names-and-thus-make-a-sentence-laboured-and-trite.

“Come,” he commands, and holds his hand out to me. I take it, bemused, and follow him out of the coffee shop.

Know your place. Also, they’re holding hands?

I feel like I’ve been interviewed for a job, but I’m not sure what for.

God damn it, that’s why when I phoned Grey House they told me the role of subservient female sex slave had been filled.

“Do you always wear jeans?” he asks out of the blue.

Oh dear God. I’m propping my eyes open with matchsticks.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” I blurt out. Holy crap – I just said that out loud?

Shit, he’ll probably kill you now. By the way, are you still managing to walk? It’s just we haven’t heard about your leg movements in a while and I was wondering.

“No, Anastasia. I don’t do the girlfriend thing.”
Oh … what does that mean?

It means he doesn’t do the girlfriend thing.

He’s not gay. Oh, maybe he is! He must have lied to me in his interview.

No. It means he doesn’t do the girlfriend thing.

And for a moment, I think he’s going to follow up with some explanation, some clue to this cryptic statement…

It’s not cryptic. It means he doesn’t do the girlfriend thing.

I walk forward, and I trip, stumbling headlong into the road.

Ah, that’s better. I didn’t think you’d stay upright for long.

Ana almost falls into the path of a cyclist but Grey, who seems to have been holding her hand this entire time, pulls her backwards and into his chest. Like OMFG!!!!

3 Comments on “50 Shades of Grey – Chapter Three”

Did you stop after Chapter 3, or are you still reading? I think I made it to the next chapter, but that was all I could do. It was just so stupid, so poorly written, and frankly too porny for me. Your analysis is insightful as well as hilarious. Thank you so much for expressing the smart girl’s interpretation of this rubbish novel.

BTW, one of my favorite lines comes after they have sex for the first time (sorry — SPOILER) and she describes her orgasm as being like “a washing machine on spin cycle.” In my opinion,she must be either doing it wrong, or she knows nothing at all about laundry.